Castro Directive (15 page)

"Maybe I just don't fit in one of your little boxes." She moved her hands about, making a rectangular shape. "This person fits here. That one fits there. But when someone comes along who doesn't fit into one of them, you get confused. Like that little-blond cop tonight. I saw you trying to figure her out. But cute little women and tough cops aren't supposed to fit together, are they?"

Pierce absently ran his fingers over the bump on his head. It was still tender, but not so noticeable now. "I guess I'll have to create a special little box for you, and one for the cop, too."

"Maybe I'm wrong," she replied. "But I think you've already got me in a box—one for people you don't trust."

"That would be a crowded box. In my work, it's not wise to trust too many people."

"That's too bad. If you can't trust people, your life can't be too happy."

"What about you? You certainly haven't got much good to say about Raymond Andrews."

She looked across the room at the stage as another dancer stepped out, dressed in high heels and a mini-skirted cowboy getup. As she undulated about the stage, the hat slipped sideways, threatening to fall. She held it in place for a few dips and turns, then flung it to the side.

"I have nothing good to say about him, and for good reason," Elise said, turning back to him.

"So you're holding a grudge."

Her mouth tightened as she leaned forward. "You saw what he did to the house. He was responsible."

"I told you before, I didn't tell him about you."

"Doesn't matter. He knows; he has other ways." Pierce was puzzled by her insistence on Andrews's guilt.

"Why the hell would he want to wreak havoc with your life? Tell me that."

She stared at him as if weighing her next comment. "I guess Bill didn't tell you who owns the skull."

"He said some Scotsman named John Mahoney."

"He's my father."

Wonderful. What else hasn't she told me?

She explained that he'd lived in Scotland part-time for more than twenty years, ever since he spent a year on a fellowship at the University of Edinburgh. After he was discredited as a result of the replica scam, he'd moved there permanently.

He sat back in his chair when she finished and gazed at the dancer whose clothes were slowly falling away. The woman seemed unreal, as if she were a celluloid image on a screen. Elise was real, and what she'd just told him made her interest in the skull the more understandable. He sipped his beer and felt her watching him.

He leaned forward so he wouldn't have to raise his voice. "Why the hell didn't he take the three million Ray offered?"

"The skull means more to him than money." Elise looked down at the table, lost in thought. Her eyes closed, and for a moment he thought she was about to cry. "Let's get out of here, Nick."

It worked out as Elise had said it would; he found a parking spot near the apartment building with no difficulty. She grabbed her overnight bag and followed him upstairs. As they entered the apartment, he asked if she wanted a nightcap.

"No thanks. I'm really tired now."

"Okay. I'll make up your bed." He took the cushions off the couch, and Elise helped him pull out the sleeper. He stepped back, noticed how she shifted her glance from him to the bed, then back again. "Something wrong?"

"Got any sheets?"

"Oh, yeah." He walked over to the linen closet and returned with sheets and a light blanket.

"How long have you lived here?" she asked as they made the bed.

"Since my ex-wife and I split up. I'm divorced, like you."

She didn't say anything, and he watched her as she tucked the sheet in the corner. He wondered what she looked like naked, and what it would be like in bed with her, and he wondered if she was thinking similar thoughts. But when she spoke he realized that there was something else on her mind.

"I bet you checked the court records," she said. "What else did you find out?"

"You instigated the divorce."

Elise straightened the sheet at the bottom of the bed, then stood up. "We were going in different directions."

"I know what you mean. My marriage went sour when I quit the travel agency."

"You get along now?"

Pierce shrugged, feeling uneasy at the mention of his old life and his present relationship with Tina. "Sort of. You ever see Steve?"

"No, never, and I don't want to see him, either." She dropped her bag on the edge of the bed and unzipped it.

Then why, he wondered, had she blurted that he might be in the house when they arrived from jai alai? And why had the old lady across the street said she saw him visit her regularly? It was time he looked up Steve Simms, he decided. "I'll put some fresh towels in the bathroom for you."

A few minutes later, he said good night and retired to the bedroom. He lay in bed, listening to the sounds of another person in the apartment. He heard the toilet flush, the water running in the sink. Footsteps in the hallway. The sleeper creaking.

Why had she lied to him about her ex-husband, and what else was she lying about? Then he remembered "Monica." She was a lie. And he recalled something else from the court records. Steve spent a lot of time in the gym. A fanatic. He wondered if he also had a scar on his jaw.

He was too tired to think any more about it. He closed his eyes and dozed off with Elise and Monica juxtaposed in his mind like twin sisters. Sisters of suspicion.

Subdued morning light filtered into Pierce's westward-facing bedroom window. He blinked his eyes open, focusing on the pale blue wall of the bedroom. He'd heard something.

Now he heard it again. A voice. He sat up, confused. What the hell? He sniffed, smelling the aroma of coffee.

Elise. He'd forgotten. But who was she talking to? He leaned forward, listening. She said something about eleven o'clock, then he heard a click. The phone.

"Morning," he called out, his voice hoarse with sleep. "You're awake. Can I open the door?"

"Sure." He tugged the sheet around his waist.

The door swung open, and Elise was holding a steaming coffee mug. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt that reached to the middle of her thighs. Her hair was mussed, falling across her forehead. She raised the mug. "Hope you don't mind. I've been up awhile and couldn't wait."

"Not at all."

He noticed the light sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks as she smiled. No makeup on, and she looked great. He cleared his throat.

She made a face and looked apologetic. "Sorry if I woke you."

"No, it was just odd to hear someone else in the apartment. How about going out to breakfast?"

"Fine with me," she answered, and turned away. "But I have to be home by eleven. I just made an appointment with my cleaning service. I've got a big job for them."

It was nearly nine by the time they pulled up to the Edison. "You ever eat breakfast here?" Pierce asked as they stepped out of the car in the alley behind the hotel.

"No, but then I don't have a parking spot here with my name on it, either."

Pierce led the way to the entrance, and they were seated at his usual table. "Must be nice to have your office right above a good restaurant and across the street from the beach."

"I guess I take it too much for granted."

The waitress appeared with menus. "Dolly, this is Elise."

"Nice to meet you."

"Dolly used to work at the Fontainebleu back in its glory days."

"Really?" Elise said.

Dolly waved a hand at her. "You should have seen it. All the big stars—Sinatra, Gleason, Rooney, Martin."

She fixed a hand on her hip, and Pierce knew she was about to tell a story.

"One morning I was carrying two cups of coffee and who do I bump into but Jerry Lewis. I dropped them both, and you know what he did? He went right into the kitchen. I thought he was going to get me fired." She shook her head. Pierce had heard the story several times, but she talked as if it had happened yesterday. "You know what he did? He came out with a mop and cleaned up the whole mess. Jerry Lewis mopping our floor. I couldn't believe it."

"That must have been something," Elise said politely. "Those were some times. I'll get you guys your coffee, then take your order."

"The local character," Elise remarked when Dolly left. "You come here often and you'll hear all her stories. Keep coming and you'll hear them all again."

After Dolly returned with their coffee and they'd ordered, Elise asked Pierce what his plans were for the day. He was going to see Andrews, but decided that evasiveness was the best tactic. "I've got a meeting in the Grove at noon. So I can drop you off at home and bum around the Grove for an hour. Unless you'd like me to help with the clean up."

She shook her head. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll let the cleaning crew handle it." She stirred cream into her coffee. "Let me guess. You're going to see Andrews at his office in Grove Plaza."

He sipped from his cup, watching her over the rim. "You seem to know quite a bit about him."

"More than you, I think."

He doubted it. "Tell me something else."

"He owns Grove Plaza."

Pierce wasn't impressed. "He's the major investor. Tell me something I don't know.

"Okay. He founded Noster Mundus."

"What's that?"

"A secret society. The name is Latin. It means Our World."

"Never heard of it," Pierce said.

"That's not surprising. They don't seek publicity."

"Tell me more."

"It involves a select group of influential people from this country, Europe, Latin America, Asia, and the Mideast. Their goal is to shape world events for their own purposes."

Elise Simms, he decided, was carrying her share of bombshells. Last night it had been her father and his relationship with Ray Andrews. Today it was a secret society. "Sounds ominous."

"Not necessarily. You could compare them to other secret societies like the Knights of Malta, Opus Dei, or the Moral Re-Armament. They're religious-oriented and dedicated to the idea that a small group of people can have a great impact on the world. Quite a few well-known statesmen and industrialists are in their ranks. Lee Iacocca and Alexander Haig, for instance, are members of the Knights of Malta. So are William F. Buckley and Senator Jeremiah Denton."

"And Andrews's group is similar?"

"I'm getting to that."

Dolly arrived with breakfast. "Boy, we're busy this morning. I'll get you refills as soon as I can."

Pierce nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on Elise. As soon as Dolly moved on, he waited for her to continue.

Elise ate a few bites of scrambled eggs. "Noster Mundus is a latter-day version. It's only about ten years old. It's like the others, yet it's not."

Pierce listened as she explained that in some ways the organization more closely resembled a turn-of-the-century secret society called the Golden Dawn.

"How is the Golden Dawn different from the others?"

Dolly stopped by with the coffeepot and refilled their cups. They both ate in silence until she was gone. "The Knights and the others are basically international good-old-boy networks," she explained. "The more international connections members create, the greater the opportunity to mold the world the way they want it. The Golden Dawn and Noster Mundus, on the other hand, are founded on the principle that change in the world is created through change in the individual."

She took a bite of toast, chewed it. "You see, they look at human willpower as a real force that can be trained and put to use to create whatever you want."

He wanted to find out everything he could about the group, and he wanted an independent source. But first he would see what else she had to say. "What do they want?"

"From what I can tell, their intent is to become a major force that governments will look to for direction on global matters."

"You think this Noster Mundus has anything to do with the crystal skull?"

Elise smiled, stabbed her home fries with her fork, and took a couple more bites. "Dad says they use the crystal skull in their emblem."

T
he parking garage below Grove Plaza looked like a salesroom for exotic luxury cars. Among the Mercedes, BMWs, Volvos, Peugeots, and Porsches were a Lamborghini, a Bentley, and a Rolls. Pierce walked past at least half of the cars before he reached the stairway in the corner.

One level up, the courtyard was decorated in ornate bronze sculptures, a bubbling fountain, and lush tropical vegetation. The place bustled with well-heeled shoppers, people with time and money. It was as if no one needed to work anymore; their jobs were simply to find ways to spend their excess money.

He walked around the fountain where Andrews was supposed to meet him. Surrounding the courtyard were two levels of glitzy shops and galleries with swirled stucco walls and stained-glass windows. There were a couple of restaurants, a nightclub, a private club, a health spa. Above the shops was a level of offices, then two levels of condominiums.